Legends of the Ancients
This fanfic is based on the popular Warcraft III Frozen Throne map, Defense of the Ancients (All-Stars), created by guinsoo. All Character rights are reserved for the copyright owner (though unofficial, of course, credit should to be given to the creator for the incredible work in creating the addictive map: dotA).
Note to all: Most of the names of places in this fanfiction are purely fictional and are the sole creation of the writer (me). The occurrences of any similarities found in real life or in other copyrighted material would be purely unintentional, accidental or coincidental. Names of characters and certain references, however, are taken from the DotA All Stars map and from Warcraft 3: Frozen Throne. The DotA character relations with each other are based on the creator's descriptions in the main website: knowledge: Readers might have to learn a bit of the Warcraft 3: Frozen Throne history to fully understand this piece. The story takes off from the end point in Warcraft 3: Frozen Throne and goes on as an alternative sequel to the Warcraft story through the introduction of new characters from the DotA universe. The timeline in which all these events occur is the point just after Arthas returns Frostmourne to the Lich King and is thus consumed by him. The Lich King is now free to roam the worlds in the body of Arthas. The scourge now plans an all out invasion of the continents in which the living dwell. New parties emerge and alliances are formed and all are building towards the great and inevitable battle to defend the Ancients from the threat of enemies.
Note: The events that happen in 'Legends of the Ancients' have nothing to do with the events in World of Warcraft.
Chapter 1 – Strangers in Tharn
The dimly lit streets of Tharn bustled with activity even as the sky darkened into a dazzle of red and yellow and purple, signaling the coming of nightfall. Women could be seen ushering their playful children indoors and the men could be seen returning from their work in the city. As the night cast its overwhelming shadows, the humble city servants who were in charge of keeping the dark of night at bay began their work, each lighting the many oil lamps at the top of long, metal lamp posts that were scattered all over the magnificent city. Within minutes, the hustle and bustle of the evening traffic began to die down as the light of the moon began to emerge from within the dark grey clouds that filled the skies. Voices were hushed and silence grew as the crowd abandoned the city streets for the safety of their homes. Hours pass and nothing happens, save perhaps the putting out of the lights from within each house, and the visits by the men to the local tavern for the evening drink.
All seemed asleep in the city of Tharn at that time of night. Not a soul stirred except those who hung about at the bar, drinking life's worries away. A lone, cloaked figure walked toward the tavern from the direction of Castle Thunderwrath, the main keep that housed the royal family watching over the land. Towering above all the other inferior works of construction, Castle Thunderwrath stood out like a thorn among the rose garden that was Tharn. With its great towers, shadowy keeps and dark walls, the Castle stood like an ominous watchman over the city, portraying the might of the royal family as well as their position as iron-fisted rulers. The man in the cloak simply gazed up at the castle as the moonbeams reflected off its shiny brick surfaces and sighed. Usually, one would never walk the streets of Tharn unaccompanied as the city was notorious for its bandits and shadowy figures at night, but Purist never put much care into his safety, much to the disappointment of his father. In fact, the bandits themselves would've known their place if they recognized that it was the royal prince himself walking alone in the dead of night towards the local tavern. They would know how to fear for their own lives. Another reason why Purist was never attacked was probably the fact that he had a giant sword that hung at his waist, just waiting to be unleashed on any unfortunate adversary that dared to cross his path.
The heavy thumping of Purist's footsteps could be heard throughout the town as the prince made his way steadily to the tavern door. Clad in heavy armor beneath his robes that hardly suited a casual trip to the bar, Purist arrived at the door just in time to be nearly knocked over by a flying drunkard that appeared to have been physically thrown out of the tavern. Fights were common in taverns, especially the rough atmosphere of the Tharn's taverns, but what made this particular incident unique was the fact that the tavern patrons were being unusually quiet about the whole issue. From the door, Purist peered into the tavern and noticed that everyone seemed to be minding their own businesses with traces of shock and panic in their facial expressions. Knowing the rough ways of the common folk men of the city, Purist was puzzled as to what could have possibly frightened these bar-fight veterans into hushed tones and whispered voices filled with traces of dread and anxiety. Making his way closer toward the bar, he found his answer. Sitting ignorantly on a high chair at the bar table was a dwarf and he was stuffing his face with a huge glass of fine Tharn beer. Dwarves were not uncommon in these parts and many frequently visit the tavern during their business or leisure trips to Tharn, but it was generally known that they were troublemakers who carried an air of brutishness and savagery about them. Proud and stubborn, dwarves were not the best of creatures to be messed with if you were a human, but there were still many that defied them and held them in low regard. Those who did, however, usually ended up physically abused by a member of the dwarven race.
The bartender and a few patrons rolled their eyes and some turned heads when they saw Purist enter, but the dwarf hardly budged, almost as if he had not noticed the giant man at all, though it was hard not to as Purist's heavy footsteps made quite a racket in the dead silence that had befallen the bar. With his hood still over his head, Purist hastily made his way to the bar table and tried in vain to avoid the attention. Though the dwarf was totally oblivious to the fact that a man had been thrown out of the tavern, Purist knew from his gut instincts that this dwarf was the very cause of the incident. He sat next to the dwarf and ordered a drink.
"The usual, sire?" asked the barman politely. He knew Purist well and he knew of the prince's inclination to sneak out of his abode in the castle on certain nights when he felt living the royal life became too great a burden or an annoyance.
"Only the best, as you serve it, my dear Barcello, but please, try to refrain from calling me sire in the hours of the night when I prefer to be nothing more than a common man." replied Purist and the barman nodded. The dwarf didn't budge an inch or show any sign of interest. He just kept on with his drink. The barman poured out the desired liquid and served the prince as he would any commoner, by launching it from the other end of the table, letting it slide across the smooth surface of the bar table and expecting the intended patron to catch it. The barman knew Purist wanted to be treated like everyone else. Catching his drink with superior agility and smoothness, the prince proceeded to empty his glass, ignoring the dwarf. Through the corner of his eye, Purist noticed the ancient white beard of the dwarf and the rich, but pale and withered skin texture that made up the dwarf's face, telling him that the dwarf was an elder who had seen more years than his own father. Dwarves were known to live longer than humans anyway.
At that moment, the man who was thrown out appeared at the doorway and was now somewhat rejuvenated and more prepared for another round of settling differences with the person who had challenged him earlier.
"Back for another round, lad? It will be the same as the last time, so I suggest you needn't bother," came the rough, booming voice of the dwarf. Without even turning his head, the dwarf put the glass down to speak, then, as if drinking was the only thing that was important to him, he lifted the glass to his lips once more. The man at the door shouted insults and curses at the dwarf, but to no avail, he was simply ignored. Purist knew why. Dwarves, though proud, arrogant and easily angered, are always calm and contented when their goal has been achieved. In this situation, this dwarf assaulted the man and taught him a rightful lesson in the consequences of insulting a dwarf, and to him, the situation needed no further reinforcement. The dwarf had made his point. As the man went on with his yelling and swearing, he was suddenly violently shoved aside by a dark robed humanoid figure that had appeared at the doorway.
"If you want to make your point, then do it. Words without action lead to nothing," said the hooded figure, whose face was completely masked by the darkness that the hood encompassed. Stunned by the sudden occurrence, the man was speechless and sat there staring at the dark man who was making his way towards the bar table. The man sat at the table and ordered a drink with only a slight movement of his hand to indicate the desired refreshment.
"Admirable logic and practicality," praised the dwarf and for once, he turned his head to nod at the dark hooded man. The only sign that he paid any attention to anything that went on at all. "I couldn't have said it better myself."
"Incompetent is he who knows not his place in the universe…" said the mysterious man slowly and clearly. "And to you, my friend, I might as well say the same. For it is unnecessary violence that sets apart the humans and dwarves from the more superior beings in this universe," replied the stranger coldly to the dwarf without any hint of restraint in his voice that might have helped to avoid worsening the already tense situation.
"Ignorant fool! How dare you place dwarves on equal grounds with humans? By the might of the Lord Zeus, Supreme King of the Mountains, I shall have your head for that insult!" roared the dwarf in an increasingly violent tone. The tavern patrons braced themselves and prepared for the worst. Many of them had seen the fury of the dwarves when their pride was challenged and they all knew how incredibly terrifying they could be. They were ready to duck when flying chairs and tables came at them. The bartender hurried towards the far end of the table and pretended to immerse himself in some work. Purist seemed caught and he didn't know how to react. It was then that he noticed the incredibly large hammer that lay upright against the bar table by the dwarf's right hand and the dwarf was now clutching it till his knuckles seemed to be flaring white. Purist's hand instinctively reached for his sword for he knew that even with all his training and adept fighting skills, it would take all his wits and abilities to take down a fully angered dwarven elder. In fact, it was the hooded figure who seemed to be the only person in the whole room that seemed to not feel the growing tension in the room. Calmly, he sipped his drink.
"Strange… everyone around us seems tense and ready to flee, when in fact, you haven't even risen from your chair. Oh dear me, I seem to have forgotten. Silly me, for if you raise yourself from your chair, you'd be no taller than my own waist… inferior… nothing more than a bearded halfling," said the hooded stranger more coolly than ever.
That was the final straw. Purist didn't even have time to dodge when the huge iron hammer that the dwarf had brought along with him rose from the ground with blinding speed and agility along with a spine-chilling howl from the dwarf – the widely feared dwarven war cry. The hammer sent Purist to the ground and luckily, it had done so by striking his chest plate, bruising him only a little compared to what it could have done if he had been exposed to the direct blow. Though it had indented Purist's chest plate armor, the obstruction did not impede its devastating passage towards its intended target on the other seat. Everyone had expected the hooded figure to either dodge the blow or be crushed by the incredible force of it, but to everyone's surprise, the hooded figure raised a hand and from within the long sleeve of his robe came a sharp moonblade which the robed man held in a reverse position to parry the mighty hammer. Even more surprising was that sparks of lightning could be seen exploding out from the contact point of two weapons when they clashed, but the fireworks display died out as quickly as they had appeared. The hooded man had equaled the dwarf's mighty blow with his giant hammer with a mere short, curved sword that was his moonblade. The dwarf's eyes narrowed and with a stern look, he tried desperately to mask the terror he felt at that moment from becoming a facial expression.
"Magina…"
The dwarf lifted his hammer and dropped it on the ground with a loud thud. He was defeated. Slowly rising from his seat, the dark hooded figure, whom the dwarf knew all too well as Magina the Anti-mage, stared directly at the dwarf. From position that he was in, Purist saw clearly that though the person he came to know as Magina was staring directly at the dwarf, that person was wearing a blindfold over his eyes. The man was blind.
"Zeus is in exile…" said Magina coolly as he very effortlessly broke away from the dwarf's cold and bloodthirsty gaze. He was blind, after all. The dwarf stared without blinking at the person who had beaten him with mixed feelings of rage and fear as the anti-mage walked past him and out of the room through tavern door. The tension ceased as soon as he was out of sight, disappearing into the darkness of the night. The dwarf, who now appeared to be incredibly tired and depressed, slumped into the chair, sighed and ordered another large glass of booze. Purist stood up hastily in a desperate and vain attempt to make himself look not so foolish. He was a proud man too, but he knew all too well that the centre of the night's attraction wasn't him and he had the dwarf to thank for that.
"An impressive display of strength indeed," said Purist, breaking the silence after he had gotten back onto his seat. "A man like you could…"
"Save me your pities, knight. For I am no man… I am a dwarf, and like a dwarf I know when I am defeated. And if you may please leave me alone for the rest of this blasted evening, I may even spare you your bloodily pitiful life," interrupted the dwarf, concluding his statement with a loud gulp of drink from his glass.
"But at least hear me out, mighty one," said Purist quickly while the dwarf was still downing his drink and unable to interrupt him again. "In all my years, I have seen the might of the dwarves, and NEVER have I seen might such as yours in these lands. I pray you will grant me at the very least, the honor of knowing that by which you are called, great one." said Purist hurriedly, but clearly.
"Aye, under any usual circumstances, I would've taken that in as a compliment, but now, however, even the most flowery of tongues will not change my mood or compel me to reveal that which will only be disclosed to the Lord Thunderwrath of Tharn. For that is the main purpose of my travels to this part of the land." replied the dwarf more politely though still containing traces of unsatisfied fury and unwillingness for conversation in his tone.
"Then so be it, great dwarf of the mountains, for I am his lordship's very own son, Purist Thunderwrath." announced Purist in a louder and more confident tone of voice, forgetting his inclination to sound like the common folk to impress the dwarf. His sudden change caused hushed voices to go around and he regretted it almost immediately. The dwarf peered under the man's hood and saw the traces of noble descent in his kingly features and noticed the golden blonde hair that belonged to Purist's father and the father of that father and so it goes along that line. With a questioning and doubtful look on his face, the dwarf glared deep into Purist's deep blue eyes.
"Dural Stormhammer…" said the dwarf as he turned back to down his booze once more.